


Transformers: Robots in Disguise

by Amethyst97Skye



Series: Transformers: A Different Dimension [1]
Category: Transformers (Bay Movies), Transformers Animated (2007)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Gen, Modern Character in Transformers, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, POV First Person, POV Multiple
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-04-25
Updated: 2017-04-24
Packaged: 2018-10-23 17:38:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,942
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10724055
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Amethyst97Skye/pseuds/Amethyst97Skye
Summary: When British College student Siobhan Katherine Sanders wakes up in the Bay Movie universe, it is up to her to seek out and exploit the plotholes so she can save the world.





	Transformers: Robots in Disguise

Eve’s dog woke me up. Mitzie sounded remarkably close, living across the road as she did. Maybe they were visiting…? But it was too _early_ for visitors. I rolled over and glared blearily at my alarm clock. It wasn’t even seven yet. I bundled myself down under the covers. Why was it so warm? I was sure I left the window open. Panda liked to catch up on gossip with the dawn chorus but, being a rather heavy sleeper, I rarely heard them. Except –

_“Oomph! Agh! Paaandaaa…!”_

Except when the fury devil decided to use me as a climbing frame. She gave the most wonderful back massages, but they weren’t nearly so nice on the knees, bladder or chest.

“Ooh… I’m up. I’m up,” I yawned, receiving a sloppy kiss for throwing off my sheet.

Um. I could have sworn I went to bed with my winter duvet. Maybe I tossed it off during the night? It would explain why I was so unbelievably warm.

I gave my eyes a rub, Panda a stroke – when did mum take her for a fur cut? – and sat up. I stumbled this way and that, walking into my desk, my desk chair, and a wall – did mum rearrange the furniture? – before I found the door. I could tell this was going to be a long day. Thankfully, it was a Saturday, the beginning of a well-deserved weekend.

Panda followed me down the hall, as always. She likes to accompany us to the bathroom, just to make sure no one attacks us while we do our business. Sometimes she sits in the sink, sometimes she sits on the system so she can watch the birds, and sometimes she sits on my lap. It depends on what mood she’s in. Today was “I’m-gonna-make-you-fall-head-over-heels”. I think she got it confused with “Ankle-tasting-Tuesdays”.

The bathroom did smell perfumey, though. Mum must have tried out a new product. This one smelled… vanilla-y, with a hint of meringue, and a dash of lemon zest. Delicious. Ah! And I could also smell –

“Save me a waffle, mum!” I called, opening the door to the… bedroom?

Well, that was wrong. Was I dreaming? That would explain all these weird peculiarities. I gave my eyes another rub. It didn’t help much, but I did find that I wasn’t anywhere near the bathroom but what must be my sister’s bedroom. Mum had done some major redecoration! And she'd finally convinced her to get a double bed. Wonderful. I could hear sleepovers in my imminent future. This was proof it was just too dog-gone early! But I was up now. I’d just take a nap later.

I turned back, rounded the bannister and opened the door to… a second bedroom? It didn’t look like mine, or mum’s, and I was pretty sure dad didn’t build an extension while I was away. It was only a week. Only the Extreme Makeover crew could manage that. Funnily enough, when I looked down the hall, I spied fewer doors than I remembered.

There should have been a door to my room, my sister’s room, my parents’ room, the bathroom, and the office-slash-study. I counted them, again and again, but there were only three. Boy, that pizza I had last night sure had some funky sauce.

Third time’s the charm! I found the bathroom and, I admit, I was a little freaked out because it wasn’t _my_ bathroom! There was a bath, a separate walk-in shower – mum would have told me if she’d got one, she’d been searching for the “right fit” for months – and there were only three toothbrushes, none of which were electrical.

When I finally sat down it was a really good thing because –

“Panda! What _happened_ to you? You’ve turned into a Chihuahua!”

My fluffy, poufy, adorable Panda-faced black and white moggy! This was a nightmare! And the poor thing was in a cast, too! I did, I felt sorry for the puppy. His fur was smooth if short, and he was so sweet and affection, licking my fingers and wagging his little tail. Aww.

“Do you have any idea why I decided to dream about you…” I couldn’t quite make out the name on the tag. It was a glittery, gleaming, blue collar with bells and a little-studded silver bone that said, “Mojo?”

Why did that ring a bell? Ha! Bell. A little tan Chihuahua, with a soft white underbelly (and the bits to prove he was very much not a _little_ boy), a gaudy collar, and a cast on his left front leg. It was on the tip of my tongue, too. I felt like it was from a film, one I’d watched recently…

“Up an' at ‘em, sport. Don’t wanna be late.”

Sport? Since when had my dad ever called me “sport”? I was his “caterpillar” – or “Andrex Puppy” because I used to love burrowing under the bedsheets as a kid – and my mum’s “sweet pea”. Ophelia was “Honeybee” and “Ladybug” respectively.

“Late for what?” I asked. Were we going somewhere? I’d only just got back! Granted, I only went to Skegness for the week with Gemma, but still. I was tired.

“The bus leaves in thirty minutes, sweetie. Aren’t you getting your results back from your test today?”

“Test?" That didn't sound good. "What test?”

“Your science test.” _Phew_. Wait. When had the birds stopped singing? “From school?”

“School? But it’s Saturday.”

Mojo whined. I apologised for shouting and I left the bathroom without brushing my teeth. I could feel the plaque but I wasn't just going to grab any old toothbrush. I didn’t know whose was what, but I knew none of them was mine. Time to get this mess straightened out. My stairs rose in a straight line. These stairs curved around, like the old snake game on the ancient phones. I always twisted myself in knots. It opened out into a wide hall fitted with glossy wooden floorboards.

I commended my brain on its imagination. We had rugs at home. Not floorboards at all. To my immediate right was what I assumed to be the front door. The bead curtain was missing from the doorway. Panda loved playing with that. In front of me was a large living room-slash-dining room. They should have been separated. And, finally, to my left was the kitchen; it looked a little bigger than the one back home, but that was probably because it didn’t have a breakfast bar. It did have a little island, though, and there was someone standing behind it.

She was in her mid-forties, I think. Wavy, dark ginger hair that fell to her shoulders; a small, and slightly crooked, nose; her frame was thin, not slender but certainly healthy; her face was warmly tanned, and so were her arms and legs. She was wearing a summer green shirt – matching her blue-green Chromis eyes; it was a flattering fit, showing off a nice chest. She completed the look with a white pencil skirt that stopped just below her knees, and she wore flat clotted cream pumps with a little flower sitting on the outside of each foot. Ophelia would approve.

“Abigail…?”

I looked around, but I couldn’t see anyone else. Was she referring to me? It was a nice name, but I’ve always been partial to Kassandra, or Robyn, or Yvonne. I wouldn’t change mine, though. I don’t know any other Siobhan Katherine Sanders, or anyone else called Ophelia Josephine. Don’t laugh. I like our names. We’re unique. She was unique, as well, and I felt like I knew her. Was this another movie reference?

“Sport?”

Mojo whined again. Note to self: don’t jump with a dog in your arms. I gave his ears a tickle to say sorry. He accepted my apology and licked my fingers while I gauged the woman’s… I assumed he was her husband.

He was quite a large man, but not excessively overweight. Retired, most likely. His once black hair was flaked with grey, and bald atop his crown. He was wearing what my dad called “gardening gear”: a baggy old shirt, long faded brown shorts - khaki peddle pushers, really - and soil stained trainers that had been thoroughly cleaned. Repeatedly. His face was round, kind; his skin was slightly darker than his wife’s, half a shade or so, and his brown eyes looked nervous.

I opened my mouth, to say what I really don’t know, when an alarm – my alarm, I hoped, starting screaming. It was one of those old ones, with the little metal shoulders and the tiny hammer that keeps hitting them.

“I’ll get it!” I chimed, dashing back up the stairs. I ran so fast Mojo’s ears were flapping.

I popped him down on the bed, the one I’d been sleeping in, but it wasn’t mine. The bedspread was blue. That was Ophelia’s favourite colour. Mine was orange. Or gold. Or red. Yellow was her second favourite, and brown brought up the rear. It’s the colour of chocolate, coffee, and the coat of the horse she rides in Ronaeh’s Riders.

The clock was red, but I assume that was because it’s an angry colour and no one likes being woken up early. Mojo seemed quite content so, after silencing one headache, I went fishing for clothes. I figured as soon as I left the house, this weird dream would end. I couldn’t recall if I’d ever actually been aware that I was dreaming in a dream before, but there’s a first time for anything.

I had to change out of my pyjamas – again, this was Ophelia’s thing, and they were blue; I favour long night shirts, myself – and everything in the wardrobe was either black, slate grey, or dark blue. Where were the _colours_? I just shucked on a pair of denim jeans, a faded grey shirt, and a slapped on a pair of socks because all my sandals had disappeared, probably because the trainers here smelt like a locker room.

There was a shoulder bag – I use backpacks! Come on brain, work with me here! – on the spinning metal chair in front of the desk and, after flicking through the pockets, it was safe to say it was my school bag. The laptop was covered in stickers – who would do such a thing? – and someone had actually written inside their copy of _Taming the Shrew_ , and whoever’s handwriting this was obviously didn’t know how to hold a pen properly.

Mojo tried to follow me, but the little thing was having trouble walking, so I carried him downstairs. The adults were in the kitchen, discussing something feverishly. There were some papers on the island, so I figured they were figuring out the bills. I made it to the door and I plopped Mojo on a cushioned chair used, I think, for people putting on and taking off their shoes. I was already wearing the stinking things and there didn’t seem to be anything else in my size. Great. Excellent.

The door was locked, and I couldn’t see a key, but I did step on some letters. The postman – woman, _carrier_! – had come early. Like, ridiculously early. We never got letters before lunch, let alone before breakfast. I wasn’t in the mood for food, though, and I wanted to escape as fast as possible, but the letters… the name on the letters.

"Mr Ronald Witwicky? Mrs Judith Witwicky? Miss... _Abigail Witwicky_?"

One second I was glaring at the door as if Sam would suddenly charge through. Before I knew it, I was staring at the ceiling. The lampshade on the hall light was orange. It's the little things, people. It's the little things.


End file.
